Sleepless Campaign Nights
by coffeeplease
Summary: Fluffy fluff from a Motel Six. Please let me know if you like it.


Title: Sleepless Campaign Nights

Author: coffeeplease

Rating: MATURE

Category: humor, fluff

Spoiler Info: Everything up to 2162 Votes

Disclaimer: WB, NBC, John Wells, Aaron Sorkin own them. I just rent.

E-mail address for feedback: permission: Sure, just tell me first

Notes: Poor Will. Just a mindless piece of fluff.

Thwap.

Thwap.

Squeek, squeek, squeek.

Thwap.

This was the last night, Will Bailey thought to himself, as he opened up another vodka from the mini-fridge. Absolutely the last night of this. He had been tolerant. No calls to the front desk, no confrontations or polite requests the next morning. Granted, he couldn't exactly look either of them in the eye anymore.

Thwap.

Squeek.

"Ohhh god..."

In Houston, he had turned up to television set in order to drown it out. The only movie on, however, was "Body Heat." That did nothing to better his temperament. He ended up taking a pillow and blanket into the bathtub. When he woke up the next morning, he had ingested half a bar of soup and his body was permanently curved. Well, if he ended up in the hospital, he knew where to send the bill.

"Josh!"

Thwap, thwap, thwap.

After fourteen campaign stops, he knew more about Josh Lyman and Donna Moss sexually than he had ever, ever wished to know. He knew it was about an hour, start to finish, but it was usually more than once a night. She was a screamer, he was a moaner. After, he liked to tickle her and they'd usually giggle for about twenty minutes before starting again.

This was all information Will would rather not have. It made the morning meeting uncomfortable for him; he would know that the previous night they had tried a new position or fallen off the bed. Hard to discuss national healthcare with those morsels rattling around in his brain.

He tried never to picture it.

Thwap.

Thwap.

"Oh, Jesus, Oh God Donna, Oh Jesus..."

Squeek.

They had to use the names. Just so he wouldn't have a damn doubt in his mind, not that he couldn't recognize the voices. He couldn't just make believe Josh was with some anonymous woman every night. He wondered why they even bothered booking Donna a room anymore. Appearances for the press, Will surmised. Although if he had a tape recorder...

"Joshua, Joshua..."

"Mmm... Donnatella..."

Whap!

Thwap.

Thwap.

Will knew who was in charge of room assignments. He knew that Josh made sure Will was next to him every night, in every damn city. Probably because they trusted him not to have a tape recorder. But he also suspected that Josh was being a bit alpha-male; marking his territory, making sure Will knew Donna was claimed. As if Will didn't already know that.

He downed the vodka and turned up CNN. Toby's face filled the screen.

The moans from the next room grew louder. Will checked his watch. They should be wrapping up soon. And then he would go knock on their door. That's right; he would knock on Josh Lyman's door and demand that he not have sex with Donna Moss quite so loudly. Well, something like that. He couldn't demand that they stop having sex. He would probably get a nose full of blood.

They could have all the sex they wanted. Just quiet sex. Silent sex. Sex that didn't move the bed or cause Donna to scream like a banshee.

But if he did that... well, they'd be naked. Donna would definitely be naked, in the bed, trying to cover herself up. The visual would make morning meetings even worse, although it wasn't a bad one to have in his pocket for lonely campaign nights. Josh would be irate at first, then cocky and probably make some smarmy remarks about Will's lonely campaign nights. Donna would giggle.

"Yes! Yes, yes, oh, oh, ohhh..."

Thwap.

Thwap.

"Donnatella, I'm.. I'm... ohhh Godddd..."

Good, they were almost done. He could just knock on the door and they could settle this like adults and never again would Will burp up Irish Spring. He would reiterate over and over that he had no problem with them having sex. He was happy, joyous even, that their long forbidden love had finally been consummated. Consummated in every city, every night, using a few positions that sounded almost illegal.

But could they consummate quietly and between the hours of eleven and one. That was to be Will's proposal. Not too much to ask, really. Just some consideration for their friendly neighbor who did not possess a tape recorder and even if he did have a tape recorder, would never record the sounds of their lovemaking.

He could probably make good money selling that tape. Not that he found any of this a turn-on. It was disgusting. It sounded like a bad porn movie. It gave Will a headache, nightmares and apparently drove him to drink vodka, when he was really more of a whiskey man. In Illinois, it forced him to watch "Terms of Endearment" to drown out the moans and yells.

After the fourth bottle from the mini-fridge, Will could admit to himself that he was, well, jealous. Not of Josh for having Donna, although Will was certain that was how Josh would see it. He was envious of the fact that they were having sex. That sex was being had in the Santos campaign and it didn't involve him except as an unwilling voyeur.

Creak. Creak.

Giggle.

The tickling had begun.

Will would let them tickle for a few moments. God knows, he didn't want to interrupt that. It sounded so silly, saccharine and nauseating and he was jealous of it. Will wished he could find someone who could giggle that freely with.

Naturally, he was more jealous of the sex.

Giggle.

"Josh, stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"Stop..." Giggle.

All-right. He had to go now. Go to the door now before the sex commenced again. It usually did, unless they were too tired from the campaign. Grab his key card, enter the hallway, knock on the door, try to reason with post-coital Josh on the need for quieter sex. If he had to, he could resort to begging. He was losing sleep. It was for the good of the campaign.

"Aha!"

"Josh!"

"Now I've got you..."

"Mmm..."

"Donna... yeah... oh yeah..."

"Joshuuaaa..."

"Oh god..."

"Yeah, Josh..."

Thwap.

Thwap.

Squeek.

Too late.

Will reached for another bottle of vodka.


End file.
